


Recover and Assimilate

by SSCEJM4A



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Help, Recovery, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:03:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSCEJM4A/pseuds/SSCEJM4A
Summary: Another submission from deviantArt! This one comes from TigerPawXD : Bucky makes it a personal mission to help reader recover and assimilate after she is rescued from an underground Hydra lab.Enjoy! :)





	Recover and Assimilate

**Wednesday, October 12, 2016; 2:10 p.m.**

**Underground Base: 10.5 mi N of Bern, Switzerland**

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, as he caught up to Steve in one of the many long corridors that snaked through the Secret Avengers base.

Steve’s face was strained, as he side-eyed his friend. Running missions again but with extreme prejudice and dangerously undercover was taking its toll. “She’s in recovery room 26, second floor, Bay 10.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I read her file,” Bucky sighed. Why was Steve always in such a rush? They were practically jogging now.

“You read her file?” Steve muttered. “When? Where’d you get it?”

“I asked for it. On the flight back from Berlin – and I got it from Natasha, who else?”

Steve stopped in his tracks and Bucky tripped on his own feet trying to stop, too. Steve rested his hands on his hips and sighed, “What’s your plan?”

Bucky looked at him directly, almost proudly, as if he were putting every bit of confidence he had into his next words. “I’m going to help her – recover and assimilate.”

Steve dropped his head, shaking it. “Bucky,” he groaned, “that’s not why you’re here.”

“It’s not in my job description. Is that it?” Bucky stated, clearly irritated by Steve’s immediate dismissal.

Steve popped his head up. “Yes, that’s exactly it. _Not_ your job description. We have people who are trained to talk to –”

“Those people don’t know what she’s been through, Steve! I do!” He was furious now, his heart thumping against his chest.

Steve lifted his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue with you.” He waved back down the corridor from which they came. “Go…go help her. Good luck.” With that he turned and continued toward the other side of the base; his meeting with Sam was supposed to start 10 minutes ago.

Bucky blinked at his friend, shocked. _Go…go help her_. He made a fist and tugged his elbow in. “Yes!” Bay 10 was over a mile away, in the medical wing of the underground facility. The second floor meant another floor down, not up, and he was painfully aware that rooms 16-26 were specially designed for the most difficult cases. The rooms were reinforced with steel and concrete and thick glass. It was going to be a challenge to help you, but one he was far beyond ready to undertake.

**Tuesday, November 22, 2016; 3:35 a.m.**

**Bay 10, Room 26**

“I’ve got you,” Bucky whispered. He had his arms wrapped around you from behind, as you twisted and cried out, incoherently.

Rage and fear curdled inside you. A man stood over you, needle in hand, smirk on his face. You were being held fast in a dental-style chair. You screamed again, words bubbling up from deep within you. “Let. Me. Go! Let me go! Please!” Your voice dropped off and you shuddered. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered.

When you slumped in his arms, he released the breath he’d been holding and slowly laid you back down in the hospital bed. In the almost six weeks since he’d met you, barely conscious and trembling uncontrollably on a gurney, you hadn’t gone one night without crying out in terror. He'd barely slept in between those moments, having demanded a cot be put in your room – from day one.

He knew what it was like to dream, to remember – faces coming at you in the dark – the horror of reality. But his nightmares had lessened over time, making him hope yours would, too.

When you first began to come out of your coma-like state, you’d delivered only short sentences and would never look him in the eye.

Six weeks later, he caught you smiling. You'd never purposefully touched anyone and pulled away, if he even grazed your arm, but you’d smiled at him, just seven hours before you woke him with your screams. It’d given him so much hope, but each new nightmare chased those hopes away.

**Saturday, December 24, 2016; 8:23 a.m.**

**Bay 10, Dining Hall**

“Bucky, do you think we could go outside today?” you asked, as you played with the scrambled eggs on your plate.

He swallowed his bite and tilted his head at you. “I think we could arrange something. What do you want to do?”

You looked across the dining hall and sighed, “I just want to smell the air – it’s cold, right? The air is so crisp in the winter and somehow, no matter where you are, there’s always the smell of a log-burning fire floating around. Makes me think of home.”

He set his fork down and slid his hand across the table, tapping your fingers. “We’ll go outside, when we’re done here.” You gazed at him and smiled. He returned it and then nodded to your plate. “But you’ve got to eat, first. Don’t you like the eggs today?”

You shrugged and stared at your plate. “They’re all right, I guess.” You poked at them again and frowned. “I’m just _unsettled_.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Because?”

You looked him, directly. “It’s Christmas Eve. I –”

“You’re not worried about gifts or the party tonight, are you? You don’t have to go.”

You shook your head and dropped it, tears dripping onto your plate. “I…I killed an entire family on a Christmas Eve. I…I don’t remember…what year or…or where they were, but there was a Christmas tree up in their living room, presents under it.”

He shifted and moved to sit next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and you clung to him. The words, “it wasn’t you,” slipped out and he already knew what you were going to say.

“I did it, though,” you mumbled against him.

He let out a long breath, resting his chin on your shoulder. All of the talks you’d shared over the past few months – he knew your pain. He felt it to his core. You carried the same burdens. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

**Monday, February 6, 2017; 11:42 a.m.**

**Underground Base: Southeast side, outdoors**

A snowball hit Bucky right in the face and he cursed, wiping the snow away. He ducked behind a tree and peeked out, just as another snowball flew past him.

“You’re such a coward, Bucky Barnes!” you shouted, your laughter echoing through the trees. You were allowed out on such a day, because it was terribly cold. There was no real need to worry about intruders, when the wind cut through you like a knife.

He smirked, as he rolled a handful of snow into a tightly-packed ball. He knew just where you were, but the trick was sneaking up on you. Your eyesight was amplified, which left him at a disadvantage.

You were born with ‘super sight,’ as Bucky and the other Avengers called it, from a fluke chemical contamination during your mother’s pregnancy. It was why HYDRA had kidnapped you off the streets when you were 14 and turned you into one of their assassins, kept in lockdown in South America.

Bucky leaned against the tree, realizing that taking up your challenge of a snowball fight probably wasn’t his best decision ever. A snowball hit his shoulder and he chuckled. “You’re not playing fair! You should have to keep your eyes closed!” he called out, hoping it would buy him a second or two.

He _tiptoed_, as best a metal-armed super soldier could in two-foot thick snow. When you pelted him with a barrage of snowballs, he took off in a dead run, leaping behind some overgrowth. He rolled twice and jumped up, tossing his snowball at your back.

You felt it hit and gaped. You’d lost him in the array of white, somehow, and his tactical skills were definitely more polished than your own. You spun and took off in the direction of his laughter, finding him sitting behind the overgrowth, a smile on his face. You smashed a snowball on top of his white-hooded coat and sat hard next to him. “Landed a shot, so you’re declaring victory, is that it?”

He looked at you and smirked. “Seems fair – but mostly, it’s getting colder and,” he patted his stomach, “it’s nearly lunch time.”

You rolled your eyes and then surprised him, as you circled your arm with his and leaned against him. It was the most affection you’d ever shown. “All right, Barnes,” you murmured, “lunch and then you owe me another shot at the pool table. I think I’m getting it.”

“Deal,” he managed, his emotions on the surface. He reached around and covered your hand that rested on his arm with his own.

**Wednesday, March 29, 2017; 6:05 p.m.**

**Bay 10, Room 3, first floor**

“Do you like it? I know you’re still technically in the medical bay, but,” he spun around, “it doesn’t _feel_ as much like a hospital room, right?”

You walked through the living space, peering into a small bedroom that held a closet and a bathroom. You turned and took in the rest of the space. The only thing missing was a full kitchen, but at least, there was a small refrigerator, plus the living room had a television. You could finally watch the movies you wanted to watch, instead of being at the mercy of whomever had snatched up the main living space’s remote first.

“I love it, Bucky.” You offered a smile and turned again. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He stepped over to the couch and tugged the cushions off. “Look at this.” He yanked at a handle and pulled a mattress free. “I won’t be in the room with you, but I’ll be nearby. You’ll have some privacy, finally.”

You walked over and looked at the lumpy excuse for a bed. “Bucky, you’re not going to be comfortable there.”

“After sleeping on a cot for five months? This’ll be a dream.” He smirked and stepped around it and up to you. “It’s where I want to be. You’re still having nightmares.”

“I…I know,” you whispered, dropping your gaze. “I just thought that me moving in here meant you’d get some of your life back.”

“This is the life I want, [Name] – to be wherever you are. It’s my mission, remember? To help you recover and assimilate.”

You looked at him and nodded. “Right.” You forced a smile and glanced over at the sofa bed again. “Bet there are sheets for that around here somewhere.” You backed away and turned, almost running toward the bedroom. You shut the door and leaned against it. _And when I’m recovered and assimilated? Will you move on to your next mission?_

**Friday, May 19, 2017; 3:37 p.m.**

**Bay 10, room 3**

You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling, earbuds in place, as you listened to music. You were stuck on any song about unrequited love these days. Bucky had moved back into his own room three days before, since your night terrors appeared to be gone.

The truth was that you had horrible dreams every night, you had just adjusted your reaction so that you’d wake up in a cold sweat instead of screams. You were good at it. Bucky was none the wiser. When he’d ask you about them, you’d lie. You’d become good at lying, too.

It was clear that Bucky was ready to move on to his next mission. He needed something to _do_, and how could you blame him? Babysitting you had to be the most monotonous thing, ever. He often talked about how he was excited about getting back into regular training again. Soon, he’d be flying off to various locations to fight the enemy, and you’d be left playing solitaire with your Captain America playing cards.

You turned on your side and curled into a ball. You loved him. _Damn it._ You hadn’t planned it or even expected it, but you had no doubt in your mind that the feelings that pelted at you, the reason you thought about him all the time was because you loved James Buchanan Barnes. And it hurt, a pain you’d never felt before. He was your caretaker, your friend, and while he was moving on, you were stuck in a rut.

**Sunday, June 4, 2017; 6:18 a.m.**

**General Living Quarters, Bay 8, Room 7, first floor**

Pounding on the door made Bucky jump. He groaned and rolled on his side, peering at the clock and then cursing. The alarms for an attack were not sounding, so what in the hell could be so damned important on an early Sunday morning?

“Bucky!” Steve shouted. “Bucky, open up! It’s [Name]!”

Bucky leaped from the bed, like a cat, his heart thumping, his breathing heavy. He snatched a t-shirt off the back of his desk chair and shirked into it, as he ran out of his bedroom to the front door of his small apartment. He stepped into his boots by the door, tugging the laces into knots, and then flung the door open, eyes wide. “What happened?”

Steve grabbed his friend by the arm, yanking him from the room. “She had another night terror. She was tearing her room apart,” he said, as he and Bucky picked up speed. “The night nurse found her, having a seizure. She’s in bad shape.”

Bucky’s mind raced, as guilt seeped in. It felt like a century, running from Bay 8 to 10. When they walked through the main doors, the mini-hospital was a beehive of activity. Natasha was standing by one of the nurse’s desks, in a robe. She was having an animated conversation with a doctor there, stopping only when she spotted Bucky and Steve.

Her lips drew a tight line, as they approached. “She’s stable. She’s…_okay_, only minor injuries. Thank God she was still in the medical bay.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair. “Where?” he managed.

She nodded down the corridor. “Room 13.” She thought about telling him not to go, that you were full of meds and out, but she knew better. It’d been clear to her months ago that he was falling in love with you, despite Steve and Sam denying it. She knew the puppy dog look men donned when they gazed at a woman they loved, and she knew it well.

Bucky rushed off toward your room, stopping his forward trajectory by grabbing the door jamb. He swung into the room and up to your bed, taking your hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and watched you breathe. “Please be okay,” he whispered.

You had a bruise on your forehead near your hairline and off to the right a bit. A cut under your left eye was stitched and covered. He glanced down at your hand in his and gasped. It was wrapped in gauze, as was your other hand. An IV was taped to your arm, bruises and cuts surrounding it. _I should never have left you alone._ “I’m so sorry.” Tears slipped down his cheeks.

**Monday, June 5, 2017; 12:17 p.m.**

**Bay 10, Room 13**

You stirred and sucked in air, your eyes fluttering open. You felt weight on your left side and looked down, finding Bucky's head lying right at your hip and thigh, his hand holding yours. You gave a weak smile and reached with your right hand to touch his hair, brushing it from his face.

He jerked a bit and lifted his head. His mouth dropped and he stood. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice full of sleep. He leaned forward and kissed your brow, his lips lingering against your skin.

When he pulled back, you frowned. “What…what happened?” you managed before tapping your throat. He turned and retrieved a bottle of water with a red straw poking out of it. After letting you take a few sips, he set the bottle down and told you what he knew.

He finished with, “You’ve been out over 24 hours. How’re you feeling?”

You pulled a face and shifted a bit. “Sore.” You dropped your gaze. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I…I’ve still been having nightmares.”

He blinked. “How often?”

“Every, um, every night.”

He sighed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged and looked away. “I figured you were ready to move on to your next mission and I wanted to make it easier.”

“Why? Didn’t you want me around anymore?”

You gave a sad laugh. “I wanted you around _all_ the time. That was the problem.”

He touched your chin, drawing your gaze to him. “And why was that a problem?” He shook his head. “[Name], I know you just woke up – that you’re sore and probably worn out, but I need you to give me complete thoughts here or we’re going to get locked up in a round of 20 questions.”

Your eyes searched his face and you took a shaky breath. “I’m in love with you, and I know you don’t feel the same and that me telling you is probably the dumbest thing I’ll ever do, since now things will be all awkward and weird, but –”

He touched your lips with his fingers, stopping you. “That was a complete thought,” he said, a smirk curling his lips. “But consider this – I love you, too. I thought you were pushing me away – that you were tired of me being around all the time, or I would never have moved back into my apartment.” He shook his head in awe. “But you love me?”

You blinked at him, your eyes wet. His fingers were still resting on your lips, so you simply nodded.

He gave a soft laugh and leaned toward you, moving his fingers just in time to place a gentle kiss on your lips. When he pulled back and opened his eyes, he grinned. “Think I can move back in?”

You nodded again and smiled. “Would you mind? Stifling the nightmares was obviously an atrociously bad idea and I really could use you there – but I think, considering recent confessions that the sofa bed is not an option…anymore.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not leaving you alone, ever again.”

“So mission: recover and assimilate is back on?”

He furrowed his brow. “Oh, I think we’ve moved past that now. It’s mission: lov –”

You covered his mouth with a bandaged hand. “Don’t get sappy, Barnes.” You chuckled and he frowned against your hand. “I do think part of my recovery and my assimilation back into a normal life might require lots of cuddling, though…to start.”

He grinned and tugged your hand away, kissing you again. “Sounds like the makings of my favorite mission, yet.” 


End file.
